


The Usual, Classic, Everyday

by Soulhearts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Caring Sam, Chick-Flick Moments, Dean Angst, Gen, Kind of fluffy in a platonic way?, One Shot, Semi-guilty Sam, brotherly schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soulhearts/pseuds/Soulhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I started huntin' so young, I don't remember being all innocent like you, Sammy.”</p>
<p>That snapped Sam's head up, grabbing his attention with both hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Usual, Classic, Everyday

**Author's Note:**

> A quick one-shot written at 1:30 in the morning, just to get those brotherly feels out of me, you get me? Thanks for reading!
> 
> Much Love,  
> Soulhearts

**The Usual, Classic, Everyday**

~

“You remember the case we took a few months back?” Dean said, taking a swig from his beer. He was already sprawled out in the library, his feet up on the desk, unread books scattered around him, his laptop open to some streaming site.

Sam glanced up from the text on Buruburu he was reading, a translated version from Bobby's old collection and almost rolled his eyes. Dean had already emptied an entire bottle of whiskey and three cans of beer over the course of the evening, whatever he had to say, Sam was sure it wasn't about to be enlightening.

“Y'know,” Dean barrelled on, ignoring the pointed bitch-face aimed in his direction. “The weird one that involved your weird imaginary friend from when you were a kid. Surrley or Surry or―”

“Sulley,” Sam cut in impatiently. “Yeah Dean, I remember. What about it?”

“Well, I… I never got one.” Dean sighed, almost pouting.

“One what?”

“Imaginary friend!”

Sam was thoroughly confused by then. Why were they having this conversation again?

“I didn't know you ever wanted one.” He replied, shrugging his shoulders and burying his nose back in the book about Buruburu.

“I guess I didn't… not at the time at least.” Dean slurred, leaning back in his chair somewhat precariously. “But I kinda wish I had…”

The conversation between them died, but the silence only lasted until Dean started his musings again.

“I started huntin' so young, I don't remember being all innocent like you, Sammy.”

_That_ snapped Sam's head up, grabbing his attention with both hands.

“Dad used to say all that shit too… like I was always too old for stuff… kid stuff, that I know I should have been allowed to do at the time. Any time I ever did anything fun as a kid I did with either Bobby or you, Dad didn't take me anywhere. Not like he took Adam to that baseball game, or even you, like that one time he took you to a movie after he grounded me for sneaking out to catch some sports match I'd wanted to see… hell, I don't even remember what sport it was _for_.

From the very beginning, after Mom was gone, it was just _hunthunthunt_. That's all Dad cared about. Shit, Sammy, I learned to drive when I was twelve, learned to shoot when I was seven, and learned how to change diapers when I was four. I barely remember being allowed to be a _kid_.

And you had all those toys, those model aeroplanes when you were growin' up. You had an _imaginary friend_. Hell, when you were begging Dad to let you come on a hunt, I was askin' him to get me outta that boys' home. He woulda let me go to _jail,_ Sam! God, maybe if I had, I wouldn't be this much of a fuckin' screw-up―”

“ _Stop!_ ” Sam interjected, slamming closed the book he'd abandoned.

Dean looked up, a surprised expression suddenly appearing on his face, like he hadn't quite realised what he'd inadvertently blurted out.

Sam had always known that Dean had resented their dad for his lack of childhood, but every case Dean seemed to be dragging up from the recesses of his mind only made Sam angry. And perhaps even a little guilty for the crap _he'd_ complained about over the years. Dean was right. He'd basically _raised_ Sam, down to the diapers when he'd had to.

“Sorry.” The older unexpectedly murmured as he put his beer down and reluctantly dragged his feet off the table. “I… didn't mean to lay that on ya, Sammy. I guess I'm just tired s'all. I'll turn in for the night, hell knows I could do with a few good hours shut-eye.”

“Wait, Dean!”

“I'll see ya in the morning, Sammy.”

“Dean, wait a sec!” Sam rushed so quickly to get out of his chair that he nearly tripped over his own legs. He managed to right himself at the last second, catching himself so he could hurry after his brother.

Catching Dean in the hallway, halfway between the library and his room, Sam latched onto his brother's shoulder and spun him round so they could speak face to face.

“Sam, I'm tired, can we do this in the morning?” Dean grumbled, trying to shake off his little brother's vice grip. He didn't want no chick-flick moments right now, thankyouverymuch.

“No.” Sam replied, holding steady and taking a deep breath. “I have to say this now, Dean.”

Dean looked up at him, a classic Winchester bitch-face already starting to form, which Sam ignored as he was the master of the bitch-face anyway.

“I'll… make this brief. No lengthy chick-flick moments, I promise.” He said, as though reading Dean's mind.

“I just wanted… after what you said… I just wanted to say, _thanks_.”

“For what, Sammy?” He countered, brushing off Sam's now slackened grip and returning to his previous heading, down the hall to his room.

“I'll see you in the morning, bitch.” He waved over his shoulder, disappearing through the door that led to his sanctuary.

“Jerk.” Sam called back with a small smile.

Maybe he'd hit the hay too. After all, who knew how many chick-flick moments tomorrow would bring.

 

**END**


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